Queen Cold
by ululate
Summary: For awkward, unfeeling Elsa, the difference between a super hero, and a super villain is one excitable journalist, and Elsa's feelings towards her. How is she supposed to confess her feelings though, if she can't even carry on the most innocuous of conversations? Super hero AU. Elsanna, non-incest.
1. Chapter 1

Ch1

Road Rage

 **I don't own frozen or anything that might sneak in from a comic book or whatever... are disclaimers even necessary?**

 **Speaking of unnecessary, it is my opinion that a story should never need a author's note at the beginning to explain it. Stories are art and art should need no introduction so, without further ado...**

A battered blue Honda rolls to an abrupt stop, engine growling its complaints as its pale driver waits for the light to turn green. Streaks of rust paint orange arrows up the dented sides, pointing accusingly at the patches of peeling blue and bare iron. She hunches down in her seat as an enormous red pickup roars behind her, doing her best to hide the blue spandex and cheap Partycity hockey mask.

"I really need a better disguise," she mutters, combing silvery-white bangs over her mask with long gloved fingers. Who, exactly, she is talking to, the girl has no idea. "And this is the last time I wear that stupid cape," she finishes menacingly, glaring at the offending bundle lurking in the passenger seat like a skulking puppy.

"It's all your fault," the girl mutters, raising one gloved hand menacingly. The cape does not answer. "I should freeze you solid and stomp you into a hundred pieces," she continues. The light has turned green in the course of her irrational, one sided dialogue though she has entirely failed to notice. A sharp, blaring horn jerks her back to reality.

Guiltily, she adjusts the stick, rams one thigh-high boot down on the accelerator, and is slammed back in her seat as her battered rear bumper crashes into the massive truck behind her.

Its times like these that she wishes she were a super villain, not a hero, but she knows that her parents would not hesitate to put her behind bars. She sighs, and checks the mask in the rearview mirror.

The pickup's driver side door opens and a large man steps out. "You're going to pay for that," he roars, stomping towards the ancient car.

"Bet you I won't," the pale girl calls back as she adjusts the stick, double checking this time that it is in 'drive'.

She checks the man's progress in her mirror. Leather jacket? Goatee? Enormous truck? Elsa hates this poser already. He reaches into his coat with a growl and withdraws something silvery. It glints and flashes in the sun as he brandishes it. A gun? The girl grins. A gun! Yes! She latches onto the excuse with glee.

Thick icicles latch around the man's knees like a pair of frozen hands. Cursing, he levels his gun and squeezes the trigger, but even as the sharp report echoes around the intersection, he freezes solid. A long, glittering spear connects the muzzle of his gun to its thwarted projectile.

Elsa grins in satisfaction and carefully depresses the accelerator.

* * *

The latch clicks quietly as its dented white door eases open. Elsa steps carefully through, long black boots held in one hand, sweatpants and a hoodie over her costume. She closes the door behind herself and tiptoes past a teetering tower of empty pizza boxes and around a cluttered table.

The hushed voice of a television makes its way to her pale ears as she sneaks deeper into her apartment. It grows minutely louder as she passes her housemate's open door. The lights are off, the hallway dark, but Elsa knows her way and navigates the unlit apartment with ease. Her long pale fingers close around the cool knob of her door and she sighs with relief. She made it. No tiring social interaction today, not after such a boring, unproductive day. She gives herself a small fist pump of victory as she…

"Elsa!" her housemate's voice is loud- too loud- and too high pitched. Excitement maybe? "Did you get the job?"

The blond hero sighs and releases the handle of her salvation. Social protocol dictates that she has to answer, right? She has to see her neighbor and tell her about her day, right? She can't just ignore the other girl and barricade herself in her room like she planned? Elsa sighs again and turns back down the hall. The blue light of the TV illuminates her face as she leans against the doorpost and gnaws at her lower lip. What lie had she used to get out of the apartment again? What job was she supposed to be interviewing for?

"No," Elsa mutters at last, "what are you watching?" She looks up briefly experimenting with eye contact. Red hair? Check. Freckles? Oh God check. T-shirt riding up, exposing a pale freckled midriff? Maybe this was a bad idea. Basketball shorts? Long pale legs? Abort! Elsa goes back to glaring at the floor as her cheeks flush crimson.

"Just the news," her housemate seems oblivious to Elsa's evasion as she turns up the volume helpfully. "Want to join me?"

"…found frozen to death with a discharged firearm in his hand," the television says enthusiastically. "Police refuse to comment at this time, but it seems clear that Queen Cold is responsible. Did this man really deserve to die though? This is Channel Seven News. We'll be back with more after a short commercial break."

"No. Turn it off," Elsa snaps. Don't forget 'please'; people like 'please'… "Please," she hurriedly amends.

Her housemate shrugs and obliges her. "I'd think you'd be tired of the news, Anna," the hero says, still careful to avoid eye contact. "Don't you get enough of it working for them?"

Anna laughs lightly, and Elsa finds herself grinning, glad to have stumbled upon a positive reaction. "That's Channel Five," the redhead replies, "I gotta make sure the competition doesn't have a story we don't."

"Ah," Elsa nods.

"Besides, Queen Cold makes an interesting story. I'm trying to write an article about her. Here's hoping it gets me a little credibility… And my own desk would be nice…" Anna shrugs nonchalantly, but Elsa decides that the way she wrings her hands means that she cares more than she lets on. People are too complicated, the hero thinks for maybe the hundredth time that week.

"It would probably help if she ditched the dollar store outfit though," Elsa's housemate mutters.

A silvery-white braid bounces as Elsa nods, doing her best to convey her grudging agreement.

"Oh," Anna exclaims suddenly, "you look tired. Are you tired?"

Elsa nods again.

"I'm so sorry," the excitable journalist stands before she has time to realize she does not know what to do once she has. "I know you don't really like being social… should I let you go?" She is answered by a third brief nod.

"Sorry," Elsa mutters as she leaves, wishing she really was tired, but she knows she will be awake for hours yet, obsessing over her conversation, and obsessing over Anna. First though, she feels the pressing need to get out of her makeshift costume and wash away the sweat and grime of a day spent leaping across roofs and dodging through alleys.

* * *

 **AN: I really intended for this to be longer, but... this seemed like a good place to stop this chapter. This is my first fan fiction, but I have some experience with writing so hopefully it came out well. I guess this is the refrain of every author on this site, but review/ favorites are very appreciated.**

 **I tried to pay homage to old silver age comics with the whole "Anna is a reporter" business, but I always wondered why the people in those comics always seem to either be perfectly good or perfectly evil... I guess there is more grey area than I'm giving them credit for in the case of like "the punisher" but I'm having a lot of fun exploring the grey area between "heroes" and "villains". Feedback would be wonderful, and I'll do my best to reply to reviews and PM's, assuming I get any.**


	2. Chapter 2

Queen Cold

Ch2

Murder Most Foul

* * *

"Elsa, I'm heading out," the reporter calls through Elsa's closed door. "Bank robbery on twenty-third and main; my boss says it's a super, but it sounds like he thinks it's a throwaway assignment. Guess that's why he's giving it to me…" Anna sounds just the slightest bit bitter.

"Ok," Elsa yells back, rifling through the clutter of her room for her other boot. Is she supposed to keep talking?

"I'll grab food whenever I get done," Anna says as her footsteps recede down the hall.

Elsa grins as she finds her errant boot and shoves her narrow foot into the opening. This day, she decides, cannot possibly get any better; free food and an opportunity to beat the ever-loving shit out of another super. What's not to love?

* * *

Arendell First Mutual's enormous, columned façade stands ominously silent despite the hundreds strong crowd of police officers, reporters, and onlookers. Anna steps from the company van, bouncing with energy. If she is nervous, it is buried deep below the excitement. Auburn braids slap her face as she tries to look at everything at once.

"C'mon Olaf," she calls back toward the van, surging eagerly towards the bank like a puppy straining at its leash.

A pasty, diminutive intern emerges from the van, staggering under the weight of an enormous camera. Messy brown hair bobs through the crowd after the excitable reporter.

The bank's huge wooden doors swing open with a shuddering boom as Anna squeezes herself into the first row. "Ooh," she cries, "ooh Olaf, get the camera ready! Something's happening."

"Okey-dokey," the cameraman grins toothily, "good luck Anna."

A wiry man in a mottled red and black disguise steps into the grinning, black, aperture. Glittering red rubber gloves hold a slightly pudgy teller in front of himself.

"Anna Anderson here with channel five news," the excitable journalist begins, bouncing ever so slightly. "I'm here at First Mutual Bank and it looks like we've got a robbery. You can see behind me on the steps, the notorious supervillain 'Pyroclastic.' He appears to have a hostage, but no word yet on demands." She knows the chances are slim that just another super-robbery gets aired, but if it is, Anna knows what questions the anchor will ask and responds accordingly. "No, Kris, no word yet on the hostage's identity. I'll keep you informed as we hear more."

Olaf gives the 'camera off' gesture, and Anna heaves a sigh of relief. She takes a moment for herself as Pyroclastic waits for the crowd to quiet. Olaf turns the camera back on as the villain opens his mouth to speak.

"Citizens of Arendell," he roars. Fires lick around him in the sort of ostentatious display of power he knows the spectators enjoy. "I have fifty of your own taken hostage! Obey my demands, or I'll start burning people." He pauses so that the assembled reporters can comment.

"Pyroclastic has given us an ultimatum." Anna clutches her microphone nervously. "No word from the police yet."

She moves to watch again, when a streak of white and blue flashes overhead, as Elsa comes sliding down a long ramp made of ice. Anna does not recognize her roommate.

"It's Queen Cold!" Anna cries, grinning at the blocky, black, camera.

Elsa does not wait for the witty banter the crowd expects, launches a brutal, all-out attack instead. Long, razor-edged shards of ice fly from her outstretched hand. Pyroclastic barely has time to melt them. Before he can react, Elsa freezes the water that rains down around him- the leftovers from her last attack. It freezes his feet to the ground, and leaves the hostage free to scurry free.

Pyroclastic launches a half-hearted spread of fireballs, but Elsa surrounds herself with a dozen freezing shells as she lands. The glittering orbs splinter under the rain of rolling, greasy, fires, stop the attack, and the shards fly forward, wrap themselves around the red-clad villain.

"Curse you," he growls playfully. "You've bested me! Not back to Arrendell Assylum!"

"I'm not taking you back to the asylum," Elsa says dispassionately. "I'm not sending you to jail, or handing you over to the authorities. You're not going to be this reoccurring menace." Pyroclastic has just enough time to realize her terrible meaning, before a long, blue icicle spears him to the pavement. The crowd falls silent as blood runs down the glistening spike.

Anna's cell phone rings. She answers quickly. Automatically.

"Hi, Anna?" the voice is her boss's deep baritone. She nods briskly, before remembering that he can't see her.

"Yes," she replies, as chipper as she can be beside the grotesque spectacle; she knows what he will say before he starts speaking again. "Yeah, we've got it."

"I know Anna," he says. "I'm watching it. It's how I know. We're airing it. Good job Anna. See if you can get anything else?"

"Of course Sven," Anna lets out a massive grin. "I'll see what I can get." He hangs up on her.

"Olaf?" Anna's voice is cheery and hopeful. The excitement has completely driven away her revulsion.

"Got it," the sandy-haired intern grins and gives a thumbs up.

"I'm standing here live, as we witness what very well have been the first ever lethal super dual." Anna knows footage of the fight will almost certainly be playing in the corner of the screen.

Elsa glides smoothly over the crowd on a spinning maelstrom of ice and snow, ignoring the clamoring reporters below. Anna waves her microphone anyway, and yells her questions as the aloof hero rushes overhead. Anna expects to be ignored but miraculously, the hockey mask stares down at her, and the spinning column slows, then shortens, and dies. Queen cold lands carefully in front of her roommate.

Reporters surge toward her, microphones extended like a ring of lances. Elsa carefully raises a ring of glistening ice, and gently pushes them back.

"Sorry," Elsa says, tugging at her braid. "I couldn't quite hear that?"

"O-oh," Anna stutters. "Uh… Oh, why'd you kill him?" She can almost see Sven facepalm.

"Well," Elsa has to fight not to look at her feet. Anna isn't safe to look at, but her microphone is. "If I returned him to the asylum, he would've just escaped in a week or two. That's what happens every time 'the bat' does. I just… tired of it. He keeps getting out and hurting people…" The lies come easily. Elsa justifies herself with the desire to give Anna a good interview.

"Ok," Anna nods. "Next question; what's with the suit?"

"Oh," the hero fakes a laugh, but even she can hear how fake it sounds. "I can't seem to find a style I like. I'll commission a real one… soon…" How many more questions does Anna need? Are two enough?

The ginger gives a short, easy, laugh. "Well, let's hope channel seven lets it go until then, eh?" Elsa gives an earnest nod. "Right," Anna continues. "Next question?"

"Actually," Elsa cuts her off quietly, but her roommate lets it go. "I, uh," the hero stutters slightly as the enormity of the audience sinks in. "I've um… I gotta go. Bye." Elsa leaves quickly.

* * *

Elsa hurries home, careful to look like she never left. Her efforts are wasted though; Anna doesn't come home for another four hours. Elsa spends her time sprawled on the couch, smiling faintly. The kind of peaceful rest that comes from knowing a tough job was done well. She turns on the news to keep from looking odd though she does not really watch. Every time her impromptu interview comes on, she cringes ever so slightly, but an odd sort of warmth starts in her chest whenever she sees Anna achieving her dreams. The sort of warmth that twists the heart, and tries to rip its way out of her chest. Elsa wraps her arms around herself, and lies there with a small, dopey, grin. The hours slip by quickly.

The latch clicks, and the battered metal door swings open.

"Anna!" Elsa cries, standing. It's not until she's completed the motion, that she realizes she does not know what to do next. "I saw you on TV. You were great…" She trails off when she hears an odd burbling sort of hiccupping laugh. She takes a chance and looks up. Anna's well-tailored pantsuit is almost too much for her, but the tears she now recognizes are enough to keep her mind on task. "What's wrong?"

Anna moves to the couch and plops down wearily, not so much crying as isolated, strangled sobs. She doesn't bother to remove her shoes. Elsa follows anxiously, and sits awkwardly beside her. Anna leans toward her roommate. The hero regards her suspiciously as she tries to figure out what Anna means by her actions. Finally, cautiously, Elsa reaches out and places her arm on Anna's thin shoulders. The teary redhead snuggles into her tentative embrace.

"What's wrong Anna?" Elsa puts as much warmth into the question as she can. "I thought your… thing… went well? You even got an interview?"

"It did," Anna replies without looking up. "It went so well, and I was so happy, but… I guess I just realized that all my happiness came because someone died?" her sporadic tears seem to have stopped, locked away by the comfort and conversation. Elsa congratulates herself quietly.

"Why?" Elsa asks. Her pale brows draw together in a futile attempt to understand her roommate.

"Oh Elsa," Anna lets out a short laugh. "You are such a sociopath."

"I mean…" she shifts uncomfortably. "Yes? Probably? But… I guess I she why you feel guilty or sad or whatever, but why do you care? Pyroclastic was a villain; he killed people. He was going to keep killing people. Isn't it a good thing that he's dead?"

"I guess," Anna adjusts her roommate's arm, settles it more comfortably around herself. "I still wish he didn't die."

"You're weird," Elsa trails her fingers along her roommate's spine, blushing deeply when she encounters the rectangle bump of a bra strap.

"You're the one that hates people," Anna laughs. "You're the weird one."

* * *

 **AN: I had a ton of time to write since the first chapter, so this one came out way faster than anticipated. No guarantee the next one will be as quick.**

 **In all seriousness, this shouldn't have taken me like two years... I'm so sorry. I'll try to be faster on the next one, but... no promises...**


	3. Chapter 3

Ch 3

Edna

"Right right right," the tiny woman says with far more energy than anyone that size ought to be able to contain. "A disguise. Hero or villain?"

"Um?" Elsa looks along the line of costumed mannequins.

"Of course dear," the little woman swats Elsa with a rolled up newspaper. "I've seen the video. But what do _you_ want? Hmm? Who are _you_?"

"I don't know," Elsa mumbles. "My parents are heroes, so I guess they expect me to be a hero?"

"That isn't who you are though," the diminutive tailor leaps up onset long desk. "Who is Elsa? And more importantly, who is Queen Cold?"

"I don't know," Elsa shrugs. "I guess I don't want to disappoint my roommate?"

"No!" The tailor swats Elsa a few more times. "No no no!"

"Ok!" Elsa throws up her hands defensively and glares at the little woman- there's a deep, unspoken law amongst both heros and villains; thou shalt not harm the tailor. "I guess… I don't really see why we're letting villains go around hurting whoever they want with only a tiny slap on the wrist? They never stay in prison for more than a few weeks…"

"Good!" The tailor throws up her hands theatrically. "Better! Go on."

"And I guess I don't feel bad, or sad, or whatever when a bad guy gets what's coming…" Elsa trails off.

"No euphemisms," the tailor swats Elsa again.

"I don't feel bad when they die," Elsa bites her lip, but no judgement comes. "And it makes things a lot simpler?"

"Calculating," the tailor paces atop her desk. "Brutal. Cold, but not good or bad. Yes!" She sketches something quickly, balls it up and throws it away.

"No capes," Elsa says.

"No capes," the tailor agrees.

"So…" Elsa frowns. Humans are complicated… what is the next appropriate action…

"Well?" The tailor squints down at Elsa. "Go on. Shoo shoo. Your new outfit will be ready in six to nine days."

"I…" Elsa trails off.

"You will come pick it up when you're ready," the tailor throws away another sketch.

"How will…" Elsa squeaks when the tailor cuts her off.

"You will receive a discreet text message," the tailor gives a little 'go away' flap of her hand. "Go on. Go go go."

Elsa takes a winding route home, filled with dark alleys and abandoned streets. She wants someone to fuck with her. Someone to accost her. To hold her at gunpoint and give her an excuse to deal with them- not to kill. She needs to kill less, to show Anna that she was right to place her faith in queen cold. No one messes with Elsa on her way home though. She supposes she is probably giving off some sort of dangerous atmosphere. Her phone rings.

"Hi Anna," she answers.

"Wait," comes the too-cheerful reply. "How you know it me dawg?"

"Dawg?" Elsa asks.

"Ug," Anna sighs. "Never mind. How'd you know it was me? Finally figure out caller ID?"

"You're the only person that has this number," Elsa replies. "How can I help you?" That's polite, right?

"That's both the sweetest thing I've ever heard and the most pathetic," Anna laughs. "So listen, I've got this awful movie. Nazis from the moon, meteor blitzkrieg, zeppelin space ships. Might be the worst movie I've ever found. Wanna watch it tonight?"

"Of course," Elsa replies. "I'll pick up popcorn on my way back. You sound chipper as ever. You get over Queen Cold killing that villain?" Shit, don't remind her. If she's forgotten, that's a good thing, right?

"You're such a boob," Anna snickers. "Yeah, I'm fine. It was a bit of a shock, but I guess she wasn't wrong, exactly. It's kind of weird how we look at super villains like some sort of gladiator sport thing? I mean, sometimes they kill, and steal, and all that?"

"Oh I agree," Elsa says. It's so much easier to talk to Anna over the phone. No chance of getting flustered by Anna's fluffy red hair, and perfect freckles, and adorable button nose. Nevermind, there's the awkward. "It's good you're doing better," Elsa chokes out. How did she think the phone was safer? "I'll be home soon." She hangs up without waiting for a reply. Elsa picks up Anna's favorite flavor of skittles on the way home. The movie is every bit as terrible as promised, but Elsa gets to watch it with Anna, and there is a certain beauty in awful movies.

* * *

 **AN: wow, I'm really cranking these out, aren't I? Maybe I should slow down and give you guys time to catch up? With somewhat more seriousness, thanks to a guest reviewer for reminding me that this fic exists and really needs some love...**


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